Artistic Revelations
by ColonelPony
Summary: Either love wasn't art, or Deidara's view on art was wrong. In which an artist makes a few discoveries. SasoDei, boyslove, mild sexual themes, a tiny bit of angst, and some good ol' fluff Deidara-centric


**1) I do not own Naruto or its characters**

**2) Mild sexual references, boyslove, a tiny bit of angst, and some good ol' fluff  
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**3) SasoDei  
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**4) This idea struck me out of nowhere, around five in the morning. :p Deidara-centric, and somewhat of a drabble (till the end).  
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**Enjoy :)  
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* * *

Ever since I was a little boy living in Iwagakure I've had a strange obsession with art. More specifically- explosions. As a child I simply enjoyed the sensations that accompanied an explosion: the sight of bright, flashing light. The sound emitted upon detonation (BOOM), leaving your ears ringing. The smell of sulfur and ash, fire and smoke. And then the aftermath of it all, offering nothing but destruction and a pure memory that left you yearning for more. However, I never truly understood the reasons behind my enthrallment until I was a bit older.

It clicked for me the day I abandoned my pitiful excuse of a village. I was followed, of course, regardless of the fact that I had no family or friends to speak of. Things got messy- and by messy, I mean beautifully violent. I hadn't thought, simply acted on instinct, tossing kunai tagged with paper bombs at the tracker ninja and disappearing into a tree branch just far enough to be safe from the lethal impact. After all, I didn't want to miss a piece of artwork in motion. Those idiotic trackers had apparently not expected this line of action, because once the smoke cleared not a single body remained in-tact. The blood and the scattered, mutilated limbs only added to the exquisiteness of my work.

That was the exact moment I knew. True art could only ever be a fleeting, devastatingly destructive bang. A flash of awe-inspiring allurement, gone as quickly as it came, presenting only the inexplicable longing for another chance to witness such a display.

Since that discovery, any doubts I held concerning my actions that fateful day dissolved. I've never once regretted my abrupt departure from the place I once called home, and I know I never will. Because now I am free. Free to create my art, free to explore and ponder, free to one day become my own greatest masterpiece. Killing was merely a means to an end- a necessary step in the process of molding art- no more, no less. Being a feared and wanted rogue-nin did not concern me. I lived five years as such, depending only on myself and my virtuosity, leaving a trail of havoc in my wake. It was not difficult- those who cannot understand true art tend to lack the passion and skill needed to survive.

* * *

All this being said, I will bring us back to my current predicament, which just so happens to involve my views on art.

You see, by the time I'd turned seventeen my talents were recognized by an organization known as "Akatsuki". Being the free spirit I am, I was loathe to join their ridiculous group and whatever scandals it entailed. I'll spare you the details leading up to my joining (as I would rather not relive the experience unless absolutely necessary), and we'll just leave it at the fact that I've been a member of this bizarre gang of misfits ever since.

Now let me divulge in you a little secret of mine- the exposition behind my somewhat-tolerance of said misfits these past three years.

* * *

His name is Sasori Akasuna, though I call him Danna (out of respect, naturally) and he has been my partner ever since the humiliating defeat that lead to my adherence to the Akatsuki. I hated him at first. Hell, I despised every one of these freaks initially. He is impatient, blunt, condescending, disrespectful, and sometimes even scary (if you tell him I said that, I'll blow you up from the inside out). He is also partially puppet (I told you, this place is full of loonies), and he, like myself, has the ingenuity of a skilled artist. Unfortunately, the latter seems to be our only point of mutual relation. Not to mention his views on art are... flawed, to say the least. My Danna is convinced that true art is eternal; how he came to such an absurd conclusion is beyond me.

Needless to say, our differing perceptions on art (among other things) have instigated countless arguments and skirmishes during our time together. How in the world could this contribute to my meager concession under these circumstances, you ask?

Well, after my first year as a part of the Akatsuki I had another one of those... epiphanies. I was reluctant to acknowledge it at first, mind you, but I've never once ignored a gut feeling. And so, with considerable trepidation, I progressed toward the discovery that I was in love. That I _am _in love. With an older, artistically skilled, sadistic, staggeringly handsome, intelligent, remarkable man. My Danna.

I made him aware of this within hours of the revelation. To my immense surprise and elation the feeling, he'd admitted, was mutual. We have been inseparable ever since, and I can honestly say that my love for Sasori-no-Danna grows exponentially with every passing day.

Things were rough, and slightly awkward at first. In our defense neither of us had, had any prior experience with a proper relationship, let alone this all-consuming, overpowering feeling of utter adoration for another living being.

Now we are each others strengths, and weaknesses. He is my sanity, I am his anchor. He is the calm, I am the storm. And this- the unconditional love we hold for one another- is the only thing in my life that occupies a bigger space is my heart than my affinity for explosive art.

* * *

Finally, herein lies the problem. I will put it out there as simply as possible for you:

1) Art is frenzied, bright, and brief.

2) I love my Sasori-no-Danna with every fiber of my being.

I would even call it art, considering how sensationally breathtaking it is.

* * *

Uncertainty is a foreign emotion to me, yet it lately consumes my very entity and inflames the smoldering doubt deep inside my consciousness. This in itself is enough to throw me off, even frighten me, every instant it shadows my mind.

Continuously, I find myself asking:

Is my art a lie? Has Sasori-no-Danna been accurate all along?

I find it increasingly confusing and frustrating, my inability to decide which admittance will be the right one.

Either my views on art are wrong, or my love for Danna is untrue.

Multiple times, in the midst of heated, passionate love-making I find myself making promises.

_**"Danna, I will never stop loving you."**_

If our beautiful love is art (which I firmly believe), then art is eternal, not fleeting. Because my love for Danna is eternal.

And so, dear pride, which will it be? Only one form of art can be true. Only one of my obsessions can remain.

Everlasting love?

Or fleeting, dazzling chaos?

...

* * *

...

I don't know (yes, I do.)

There's no way to settle this... (there was only ever one answer).

Art comes first (because art is everything).

* * *

"Danna, un?"

"Hmm?"

"You are everything."

He looks up from his puppetry, away from his wooden craftsmanship- his art- and into my blue eyes. Maybe he can see the conviction held within them, because his tone is softer, more serious, than usual.

"What are you talking about, Brat?"

I smile, small but sincere, and move closer to him. He is seated before his work desk, so I sink to me knees on the ground in front of him and snake my arms around his midsection. I love the feel of his touch as his own wooden limbs cradle my head affectionately, pressing my face gently against his firm abdomen and allowing me to smell that enticing perfume consisting of wood and peppermint. When I finally respond, my voice is barely a whisper.

"My love for you will never fade, un... and you are the truest work of art I've ever witnessed."

A slight frown pulls the corners of his perfect lips downward, and he softly runs nimble fingers through my unruly, long hair.

"You know I love you too, Brat... So what are you getting at?"

Despite the nickname (which has long since lost its insult and gained a sense of endearment) and his prominent frown, his words are still gently curious.

Taking in a deep breath and closing my eyes, I concentrate on his touch; I concentrate on _us. _

"Sasori-no-Danna, un... You were right. True art is... eternal." I confess this clearly, yet quietly, my tone one of reverence.

As soon as the words leave my mouth I can practically feel his shock and bafflement, it is so strong- nearly tangible.

"...I can honestly say you've manage to astonish me, once again. Why, though? Three years... why relent now?"

I hum, strangely content after such an admission. After all, it is right. I knew it, somewhere in my insanity-stricken mind, all along. Because...

"Our love is art, un, and it will last forever."

...

...

And this is the one truth I will never doubt.

* * *

**Yay! Finished! :D**


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